by Nicole Fox
He’s chasing the high. The high of feeling powerful by inflicting pain.
Women are easy targets for monsters like Bartek.
I just happen to be the unlucky prey tonight.
I have to survive.
That’s been my motto ever since I was eight. Ever since I realized that happiness came secondary to survival.
I had no father.
I had no real mother.
I had only my wits, my resilience, and my desire to get through even the shittiest days.
And that always meant doing whatever was necessary.
It’s why I latched on to an asshole like Xander.
It’s why I agreed to spy for the Polish.
It’s why I accepted working for Lucio.
I’ve done so many fucked-up and desperate things just to get by. Just to survive.
But I can’t do this.
Not in this house. Not with this man.
“If you prefer,” he snarls at me, the smile all but disappearing from his face, “I can choke you while I fuck you…?”
I can see the wrinkles in his face now. He still gives off the appearance of youth, but age is coming for him.
“Please…”
I know it’s pointless before the word even leaves my lips.
Men like him don’t back down from that word. They double down.
It’s foreplay.
“Ahh, yes. I do like a woman who begs.” The smile widens.
Case in fucking point.
I’m backed up into a corner. My hands scramble behind me, but all I feel is cool metal.
Wait.
My fingers clasp about something heavy but small.
“Tick tock!” he jeers.
His hand lunges out for my throat again.
But this time, I’m ready for him.
I don’t know what I’m holding—a small dumbbell, maybe?—but I try and smash it into his face as hard as I can.
I have the element of surprise, and with the way my body is positioned, he never sees it coming.
It should’ve been enough.
But it isn’t.
It’s heavier than I imagined, and my hand doesn’t get up quite high enough to strike him in the face.
I hit him in the shoulder instead. Bartek kind of trips backwards—more from the surprise than the impact.
“Shit!” I try and get out from around him.
“You fucking bitch… you just made a huge fucking mis—”
His voice dies instantly.
I scream as blood sprays onto my face. It falls on me like a mist of crimson. It feels cold, unnatural.
All I can focus on is the part of Bartek’s skull that’s caved in on the left side.
I see his eyes roll and go utterly lifeless.
Then my knees give out and I sink to the floor.
Bartek’s tongue lolls out for a moment before his body collapses onto the floor in front of me with barely a sound.
Or maybe there is a sound. If there is, I don’t hear it.
I’m too busy processing what the hell just happened.
My eyes rove from Bartek’s warm corpse…
Up to the towering frame of the man who killed him.
And one thought races across my mind: Am I next?
32
Lucio
Five Minutes Earlier
My skin pings with warning signs.
He’s up to something.
He’s fucking up to something.
In the four minutes that Bartek’s been gone, I realize that letting him leave unsupervised was a mistake.
I slip out of the kitchen, moving slowly through the house so I can feel him out.
Has he gone upstairs?
I know Evie’s room is secure. Enzo is standing guard right outside, but I don’t want to take any chances. I head towards the staircase—and that’s when I see it.
The light’s on in the gym room.
The light’s never on in the gym room.
It’s an old space that’s only meant to be temporary until the main gym is completed. I move to the door, wondering why on earth Bartek would be in here at all.
Then I hear voices.
My instinct is to crash in there. But I hold back and open the door as silently as possible.
What’s waiting for me in there makes me see red.
Bartek has Charlotte backed up against the dumbbell rack.
I walk in just in time to see Charlotte swinging a stray dumbbell up towards Bartek in an attempt to fight him off. Her hand moves awkwardly and the object collides with his shoulder.
“Shit!” she screams, her eyes wide with terror.
I’m right in her line of vision, but she’s not seeing anyone except the beast in front of her.
She tries to run from him, but his anger pushes him to recover faster.
Neither one of them have noticed me.
My eyes land on the large red kettlebell in the corner. I lunge forward, snag it, and leap towards them right around the same time the bastard makes a grab for Charlotte.
“You fucking bitch… you just made a huge fucking mis—”
I smash the kettlebell into the side of his head.
It’s the most satisfying fucking feeling watching his skull cave in.
He’s dead instantly.
I already know it without having to look at him.
I’m preparing to swing one more time, but his body collapses onto the floor in front of my feet.
Where he belongs.
And that’s when I look up.
That’s when I see Charlotte’s fear-stricken face, staring at me as though she’s not sure who I am.
And the adrenaline dries up pretty goddamn fast.
I toss the kettlebell to the side and take a step forward.
“Charlotte,” I say quietly. “Are you okay?”
She keeps staring. Her eyes are glassy. She’s looking right at me, but she’s not seeing me.
She’s in shock.
As the seconds tick past, a grim realization of my own settles in place. Bartek Kowalczyk is dead in my home.
Which means one thing: the Polish and the Mazzeo mafias are going to be at war soon.
Fuck.
I know I have shit to sort out. I’ve got to figure out how to handle this situation before his men start getting suspicious.
But I can’t bring myself to leave Charlotte.
Her gaze is now fixed on Bartek’s body, and her fingers are twitching a little.
I pick up my cell phone without taking my eyes off Charlotte.
“Fucker made his move yet?” Adriano asks immediately after picking up.
“You could say that. And I made mine.”
There’s a second of silence. “What does that mean?”
“Come to the storage space where we keep the old gym equipment.”
“Now?”
“Hurry.”
Exactly two minutes later, Adriano slips into the room. He sees me first, then his eyes fall to the shattered head of Bartek Kowalczyk.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes.
I move forward. “We’ve got to get into damage control mode. How many men did you say the fucker brought with him tonight?”
Adriano’s eyes flit to Charlotte and then to me. “Eight inside the compound. Twelve outside.”
I curse. “We’ve got to take care of all of them,” I instruct. “Before they get wind of the fact that their boss is dead.”
“That’s only twenty men,” Adriano points out. “What about the rest of the Polish?”
“One thing at a time,” I growl. “We have to move fast. Get our boys ready now. I need you to take charge on this one.”
Adriano frowns. “The fuck?”
I glance back at Charlotte. She still seems to be in a catatonic state.
“He tried to rape her, Adriano,” I tell him quietly. “I walked in just in time. She saw me kill him.”
Adriano glances at Charlotte. “Yeah, fair. That’ll do
it.”
I’m about to turn towards her when he grabs my arm.
“Brother, I can have someone take her up to her room,” he tells me. “You can lead. Tell the men the plan yourself.”
I want to.
I really fucking want to.
But seeing Charlotte look so destroyed, I can’t seem to reconcile the idea of walking away from her right now.
It leaves a strange feeling in my gut. I’ve never missed a chance to lead my men. I’ve never foisted off responsibility when I was able to do it myself.
Somehow, this feels different.
“No,” I tell Adriano, who’s looking at me with increasing alarm. “I need to make sure Charlotte is okay.”
“Are you sure, mio amico?” he asks.
I know he won’t ask again.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then,” Adriano says. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”
I clasp his shoulder gratefully, and then move towards Charlotte. I kneel down in front of her, blocking the body from view.
“Charlotte, can you hear me?”
No answer.
I pick her up, and her head kind of slumps against my shoulder as I walk her past Bartek.
She’s like a ragdoll. Practically dead weight in my arms.
Adriano holds the door open for me and I head up the staircase immediately.
I take her straight to my room. As I carry her, I scan her face, her body.
Physically, she seems unscathed. I’m confident that the blood on her face and neck are Bartek’s.
But the damage in her mind is what scares me far more.
When we’re in my room, I take her straight to the bathroom and set her down on the closed seat of the toilet.
Kneeling in front of her, I take her cold hands in mine. “Charlotte, can you hear me?”
Her eyes wobble around in their sockets. They’re aimed at me, but they’re not focused. Not present.
She doesn’t respond.
“You’re fine,” I tell her urgently. “I took care of him.”
She blinks and I see some awareness in her blue eyes.
“You don’t have to be scared anymore,” I continue. “He can’t hurt you.”
“You… killed him?” she mumbles through thick lips.
I nod. “I did.”
A shiver runs over her body, but she doesn’t say another word.
And she doesn’t snap out of it, either.
“Charlotte,” I try again. “There’s blood on your face. Do you want to clean up?”
“I can’t… I can’t move.”
I get to my feet and fill the tub with steaming water. Then I take Charlotte by the hand and pull her to her feet.
I think she might protest when I start undressing her, but she doesn’t.
She stands there while I strip her naked, then scoop her up in my arms.
I could just lay her in the hot water and leave her to thaw from the trauma. But the mere thought of letting go of her rocks me to my core.
I’m not going anywhere.
Instead, still cradling her against my chest, I step into the tub. One leg, then the other. The hot water seeps up my suit pants, but I don’t give a fuck.
We settle down into the bath. My back against the porcelain and Charlotte nestled between my legs.
She gasps as the water first strokes against her bare skin, but it settles into a gentle moan and then into soft breathing.
We sit there in silence for a while. My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at all.
I just want to be here with her.
Even as my men go to war… as my enemies hunt to slaughter me…
I know that this is where I belong.
After a while, Charlotte reaches up and clings limply to my bicep.
“So… tired…” she murmurs.
I scoop her up and we get out of the tub together, one slow motion at a time. Grabbing two of the thick white towels hanging on hooks, I carefully dry her from head to toe.
She keeps her hands resting lightly on my shoulders for balance, but she doesn’t say a word.
I lead her by one little hand into the bedroom. Without letting go of her, I retrieve a t-shirt from the drawer of my dresser and pull it over her head.
She’s so compliant. So delicate.
I’ve never wanted to protect something more.
The shirt swallows her whole, but I know she’ll be comfortable in it. I pull back the covers and help her ease under the duvet. That swallows her, too. She looks so lost and frightened amongst the ocean of white fabric.
“Lucio?”
I look down at her.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispers without opening her eyes. “Please stay with me. Will you stay?”
I can tell she’s scared to hear my answer.
I know I ought to go.
I need to be there to lead my men. I need to take care of Bartek’s vengeance. I need to prepare for the chaos that’s to come.
I have to tell her that I can’t.
But I don’t.
33
Charlotte
My sleep is plagued with dreams that don’t make any sense.
I’m walking home from work, just like I did the night I met Lucio.
I reach the door of my cockroach-infested apartment.
I put the key in.
This time, it opens.
Inside, everyone I’ve ever known is waiting for me. Vanessa and Mickey and Mrs. Hammond and Enzo and Mama and Lucio and Evie and so many more, so many faceless shapes and shadows.
They all start laughing.
I try to ask what’s so funny, why are they all laughing at me.
But they just get louder and it’s like they can’t hear me at all. Like my voice isn’t working.
So I start to yell it and then scream it.
Why are you laughing at me?!
No answer.
They point and cackle like hyenas.
And then the crowd parts and Bartek is there. He comes towards me and chokes me again.
And I scream and scream and scream but they won’t stop laughing.
And then the lights go out.
I wake up in a panic. The sheets are wrapped around me like handcuffs. I thrash until I’m finally free, until my breath comes hard and my skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat.
It takes me a minute to realize that I’m not in my bed.
I’m not even in my own room.
Where the hell am I?
I scramble back up the headboard. I’m starting to freak out. My heartbeat is throbbing painfully in my temples and the sweat on my neck is getting icy cold.
Nothing looks familiar.
Except for…
Just before I have a full-on meltdown, I realize what I’m recognizing.
The scent.
This room smells like Lucio.
That connection is enough to bring me back down from the brink.
I’m in Lucio’s bedroom. He carried me here after what happened with Bartek.
The Polish don’s name sends pings of fear and panic coursing through my body. His death has done nothing to calm me.
I know men like him. I know how they operate.
If he was aware of my presence in Lucio’s home, then all his underbosses will be as well.
Which means I’m not off the hook.
Something else grates at my nerves. A threat he made right before he’d tried to rape me.
Evie.
He’d figured out who Evie was.
Had he discussed it with anyone else? Maybe if he hadn’t, that particular morsel of information might be buried with him.
I can only hope so.
I shudder. Swinging my legs out of bed, I get to my feet and walk to Lucio’s window.
When I part the curtains, I’m looking down over the expansive lawn. I can see the pool from here. The fountain, too. All of it green and lush and sparkling in the night.
The beauty of the view does litt
le to soothe me. I’m still drowning in memories from what happened.
Lucio killed Bartek for what he tried to do to me.
He murdered him right before my eyes.
For me. To save me.
And when I begged him to stay with me… he stayed.
Which means one thing: I owe Lucio the truth.
That’s what my conscience is telling me.
For a moment, I actually considering coming clean with him.
But the second I imagine myself standing in front of him, admitting that I was supposed to spy in his house on behalf of the Polish, I feel my body and my heart freeze up.
He’d never forget that betrayal.
He’d sure as hell never forgive it.
I can feel that in my bones.
Shaking my head to clear the disturbing thoughts, I leave Lucio’s bedroom and head to mine.
On the way there, though, I hear raised voices coming from downstairs. Instinctively, I change course and head for the stairs.
I move down only one flight and crouch on the landing.
The voices are clearer now. I recognize one of them as Adriano’s.
“…killed them.”
“That only solves one of our problems,” Lucio replies. “We have the rest of the Polish to deal with now.”
Adriano hums quietly. “They’ll need a leader.”
“They have one,” says Lucio. “Kazimierz.”
“Kazimierz is Bartek’s brother,” Adriano points out. “What about sons?”
“Bartek’s oldest son died in another turf war over a decade ago,” Lucio explains. “He’s got a second son by his third marriage, but the boy is still a child. Three or four years old.”
“Okay,” Adriano says. “So we’re dealing with Kazimierz then. What do we know about the brother? Giovanni, what do you have on him?”
“He’s a lot younger than Bartek,” the man named Giovanni replies. He must be some sort of lieutenant in Lucio’s organization. “According to my sources, the man is sharp, ruthless, and a sadist. Even by underworld standards.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“Where are the bodies?” Lucio asks.
Bodies?
My blood goes cold, but I strain to hear the rest of this conversation.
After all, I’m the one who set this in motion.
“I had them taken to the garage,” Adriano answers. “I’ve made a call to Edward. He’ll be here in an hour to pick them up.”
